


fuck if i know

by 1ngenium



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Sadstuck, also warning for attempted suicide, and graphic descriptions thereof, in fact idk if im ever gonna like actually finish this or anything, this is just a draft honestly like please dont expect a happy ending or anything at this point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 06:11:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17861840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1ngenium/pseuds/1ngenium
Summary: this is just a sadstuck draft that i started forever ago and never got around to finishing





	fuck if i know

Today is the 100 year anniversary of Kanaya’s death. 

It was all a big mistake, no one meant for it to happen. It’s just that when almost all of your friends are immortal and have died more times than you could count over the centuries, you forget that a couple of you aren’t, and so when people get dangerously hurt, no one thinks to call a doctor, or a life player. Even if one did, who could they call? On a planet full of carapacians and salamanders and humans not even a millennium old, how could there be medicine advanced enough to save the one person you loved more than anyone else? Even if you knew Jane’s number, what good would calling her do? She’d already revived Kanaya once before, and no one had seen the Nanasprites in years. She had simply faded away without anyone there to comfort her.

You hadn’t been there when she was hurt, and no one thought to tell you that something had happened, or that you might want to check in on her. How would they? No one knew anything had happened. It was only when she had been late for your date that night that you began to worry. She’d never been late, what could possibly be keeping her? Half an hour after the date was supposed to have started, your worry reached the levels that you just couldn’t ignore. That was when you flew to her can, and that was when you found her lying on the floor surrounded by her own blood, and that was when Dave showed up because he heard you screaming, and that was when you first tried to die.

You’ve been without her for a century now, and you know that you were supposed to move on and you know you shouldn’t be this torn up still after this long, but fuck, how are you supposed to survive immortality without her there to soften the weight of forever? You still remember every detail of her face, and the way her voice sounded when she had just woken up, and how empty her eyes looked when you found her there. You don’t think you’ve been entirely sober at any point during the past century. No one blamed you for drinking the first week after she died, and after that no one was brave enough to tell you to stop. With no Vriska around to annoy you into going sober, you began to drink more and more every day, seeing just how many shots you could take before your liver shut down (your record was 281). You have died so many times in the past century, not because you’ve tried to, but because you haven’t cared enough to try to avoid death. Well, no. To say you hadn't tried to die would be, for lack of a better phrase, a giant fucking lie. If you were being honest, you felt you’d been dead since the instant she died, you’re just waiting for your body to catch up.

Today is 100 years since she died, and how you wish you were with her. Dave took away anything sharp you owned years ago. It didn’t take long for you to find new sharp things.

You’re lying on the floor, now, surrounded by a puddle of your own blood, mentally screaming obscenities at the gods you once worshipped for refusing to let you die. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve bled out at this point in the day, but your nearest guess is around 350. Your mind races, cursing the universe for taking her away from you, cursing the alpha timeline for not making her immortal like you, cursing skaia itself for not finding any justice in dying so many times, for not seeing any heroism in death by your own hands. You watch your tears mingle with the blood, and wonder if anyone who came in would be able to tell what color your floor used to be. You think about the fact that every time you’re reborn, you get new blood, new veins, new wrists, always soft and pale and smooth, unriddled by the scars that should be there, untouched by a blade of any kind. untouched by her. You think about the fact that you’ve emptied your veins so many times that all the eye, your eye, any eye, can see is red.


End file.
